


Greenhouse

by horrendoushaddock



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Bugs & Insects, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Fluff, G/T, Gen, Giant/Tiny, Gijinka, M/M, Macro/Micro, Multi, Plants, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Romance, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrendoushaddock/pseuds/horrendoushaddock
Summary: A collection of drabbles, oneshots, and vignettes set in an original universe filled to the brim with anthropomorphic flowers and insects.





	1. catch and release

**Author's Note:**

> Herein, you will find the following themes heavily touched on: original characters, giant/tiny, plant and insect based anthropomorphism / gijinka, what could vaguely be considered monsterboys and monstergirls, polyamory, gay and bi relationships, gay and bi characters, and inter-species relationships. If any of these themes offend or disturb you, we kindly ask that you simply do not view our work and move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A curious moth-boy comes across an intriguing sent in the woods. What he finds at the end of it is not quite what he expected.

The moth has never smelled something quite like this before. It’s a faint and sweet aroma, and a far less impulsive and reckless bug may not have followed it. And though he second-guesses himself, his curiosity gets the better of him. He leaves the safety of a tree’s low hanging branch, and flutters off toward the scent. A little too late he realizes that this smell is coming from somewhere deeper in the trees, where things are dark and terrible. If Dragonfly finds out about this, he’ll never hear the end of it, he knows. But at least he’s being careful, he tells himself, and he’s mindful of the thorny brush and spiderwebs.

It’s the strangest thing, the way the sweetness seems to waver as he gets nearer. It’s almost as though it’s moving, but that’s a silly thought, he tells himself. Silly, yes, but just daunting enough that he thinks he should turn around and head back out of the denseness of the forest.

However, he doesn’t have time to regret his decision to come this far and give up. Something, very suddenly, is encasing him, closing in on him from above and below and pulling him right out of the air. The hold is strong and tight, and it’s only a small relief to find he isn’t being crushed. Yet.

The thing closed around him moves, and he presses at the containment with his hands, a pitiful attempt to pry his way free. The movement stops, and whatever is closed around him starts to open again. As this happens, he realizes with a growing sense of terror that these are hands that are holding him. He’s been all turned around from being grabbed like that, but there’s no comfort in knowing his back is to this thing holding him. His red antennae fall nearly flat against his silver hair as he forces himself to look over his shoulder.

“Oh,” the creature holding him says quietly. He almost sounds surprised, the moth thinks. It’s dark in the forest, but the moth can see well enough. He can see this creature’s red skin and poison-green eyes. He can see the sharp teeth that suddenly scrape across this thing’s bottom lip. There’s something in the action that makes the moth’s skin crawl, and the red patches under his eyes recede in fear.

The flytrap’s stare is intense, and the moth is painfully aware that those eyes are soaking in every move he makes. He thinks, maybe, if he acts fast enough, he can fly away from here. With his eyes still on the other’s face, his wings slowly begin to spread. But that slight movement is all it takes, and those hands are moving so fast again. His wings are suddenly caught between fingers, pinched and held together, while the rest of him is left to dangle.

“H-Hey!” He finally finds his voice and tries to protest the capture.

“Sorry,” the flytrap says, eyebrow raised and a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I can’t understand you.”

The moth’s brow furrows, and he gives a look of exasperation. Whether or not he can be understood, his plight should be obvious. But then the flytrap speaks again, and the moth’s blood runs cold.

“And I guess that really doesn’t matter, anyway.”

And suddenly the hand holding the moth is moving him closer to the flytrap. Those pretty red lips open, and the moth stares wide-eyed down at the mouth below him. He takes a terrifying moment to register the needle-like sharp teeth, the sickly sweet saliva, and the thick and pointed tongue all too eager for him. His chest heaves, and he knows he should be kicking, should be trying something to stop this. But fear has struck him senseless, and all he can bring himself to do is bring his arms up, crossed in front of his face as though that will somehow lessen what’s about to happen. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, whimpering mournfully for himself.

The liquid warmth of the flytrap’s breath clings to his legs, and he expects to feel the pain of those teeth at any given moment. Instead, a sigh rushes passed him, and he’s all but dropped into the other’s free and opened palm. He collapses to his knees in a trembling heap in the hand, eyes open and staring up at his captor.

The flytrap looks frustrated, the moth thinks. And, maybe, a little ashamed. The fear isn’t really ebbing, but his curiosity is coming back to him, and he finds himself wondering why and what’s wrong.

“Well?” the flytrap snaps at him suddenly, and the hand that had been holding him just seconds ago is flung forward, gesturing away from the two of them. “What are you waiting for?”

The moth’s antennae slowly lift from his hair, and he cocks his head to one side before he looks out toward the promise of freedom. Turning to look back up at the flytrap, he asks softly, “…really?”

“I told you I can’t understand you,” the flytrap says, and his tone is as sharp as his teeth. “And it doesn’t matter. Just go.” 

The moth stands slowly, and he eyes the flytrap just a moment more. What if this is a trick of some sort? But, no, the moth doesn’t think so. There’s something genuine in the trap’s conflict.

Another sigh, and the hand under him gives way. His instincts are still new and clumsy, but his wings spread readily enough, and lift him away from the fall. Away from the flytrap all together. Once he’s airborne and assuredly free, there’s nothing stopping him from getting as far away from this place and that creature.

Except, he hears the flytrap curse to himself.

The moth comes to a slow halt in the air, and slowly turns himself around. He’s a good distance away, and very much out of the other’s reach, and so he isn’t too worried. The flytrap has his back toward the moth by now, and he rakes a hand through his wine red hair.

“I shouldn’t have taken that second look,” the moth hears, and his brow furrows and his antennae perk. The regret is clear in the flytrap’s voice, but the moth finds himself wondering if it’s because he’d very nearly killed him, or if it’s because he’d lost a meal. Logically, the moth knows the answer, but for just a moment, he can pretend otherwise.

Against his better judgement, again, the moth finds himself moving closer to the distressed and frustrated plant. He keeps a foot or so between them, but follows along behind. Whatever conflict is going on in the flytrap, the moth knows it shouldn’t matter to him, but that doesn’t stop him from lingering so close.

Too close.

And when the flytrap turns around, he lets out a small gasp and steps back to avoid headbutting the tiny, hovering body suddenly in front of him. His eyes are wide, only for a moment, and the moth is caught in that bright green gaze again. But then the flytrap’s brow furrows, and he’s glaring just a little at the moth.

“Why aren’t you gone yet?” he snaps again. “Do you want me to eat you?”

The moth flits back a few inches, and quickly shakes his head.

“Well then, I suggest leaving,” the flytrap sighs and rolls his eyes. The moth considers the suggestion seriously for just a moment, but then stubbornly stays put. If the flytrap was going to hurt him, he would have when he had the chance. And, he hadn’t, for whatever reason.

The moth shakes his head, brow furrowed. The red under his eyes is gradually coming back.

Surprised by the moth’s defiance, the flytrap can’t really help but laugh. There’s hesitance in the gesture, but he slowly offers his hand to the little one. “You’re either really brave, or really stupid,” he teases, letting a small laugh leave him. The moth laughs along with him, albeit a little bashfully. He eyes the offered hand, and slowly steps into the palm.

The other hand comes up, and a finger rubs over the top of the moth’s head. “I kind of hope it’s not the latter.”

The moth smiles a little, reaching up to swat the finger away, and shakes his head. “I’m not stupid,” he says, even though he knows the plant won’t understand him. The plants never do. It doesn’t stop him from talking, though. “… I’m not very brave, either, though.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” the flytrap says. “But, I guess you’re lucky I got that good second look at your cute little face.” He grins, and those sharp teeth catch the moonlight in a way that make the moth’s breath hitch. The red under his eyes darkens and spreads just a little, and the moth is suddenly in the air again. To the flytrap’s amusement, the moth makes a decidedly hasty and flustered escape.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but that certainly wasn’t it.


	2. metamorphosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes luna moths two weeks to pupate. It's only been two days.

The caterpillar isn’t too terribly surprised to find the dragonfly in this particular spot. She doesn’t know for sure, but it’s a safe enough bet that he’s been staring at the same heap of silk and leaves for some time now. She genuinely appreciates how much he cares for their friend, but waiting around so intently can’t be good for him.

“You know, staring isn’t going to make him come out any faster,” she reminds playfully.

Dragonfly sighs, decidedly settling his elbow into his knee and propping his chin up in his palm. His wings are folded tight against his back, his tail curled about one hip. His eyes only dart to her for a moment before going right back to the cocoon.

“I know, but… It’s been forever already.”

“It’s been two days.”

His brow furrows, and she can tell he has to think this over, work through it and realize it for himself. The crease in the dragonfly’s brow eases, and then his brows lift all together as he turns his face toward her.

“Two days,” he repeats.

Caterpillar nods. “Yep. Two days.”

Dragonfly sighs again. He tugs his goggles down around his neck, and runs a hand through his hair. “Well. Two down, and… twelve to go.”

Caterpillar reaches out to put a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder, offering him a smile. “You know he wouldn’t want you to make all this fuss, right?” She gestures toward the cocoon with her free hand a little flippantly. “He’s got this. We just have to be patient.” She gives his shoulder a little nudge. “Just try to relax.”

Except relaxing is easier said than done. Even when Dragonfly brings himself to pull away from the tree and the cocoon, it doesn’t take very long before he comes right back.

He had come out here with Luna when the other had realized it was time for the change, and stayed with him while he cocooned. It had been quite the sight to see, if Dragonfly was being honest with himself. And when all was said and done, and the caterpillar had sealed himself away, Dragonfly had found himself a little at odds. He couldn’t very well just leave him completely alone, could he? No matter how snug he had sealed himself inside, or how well the leaves hid him, Dragonfly found the idea of just leaving Luna completely alone one to be wrestled with.

And so he took it upon himself to spend as much time as reasonable with the cocoon. Then Caterpillar had found him, and she was rightfully concerned, he supposed. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t taking proper care of himself during this process, though. Thus far, he had remembered to eat and drink, and even sleep when the need came to him.

He doesn’t stay away for very long, a few hours at the most, and then he’s right back by the cocoon. Eventually, he stops just staring at it. Caterpillar was right, and staring isn’t going to accomplish anything. Over the next eleven days, he finds things to do. Sometimes he reads. Sometimes he sketches what he thinks Luna will look like when he finally comes out.

It’s the evening of the fourteenth day, and Dragonfly has taken to lying on his back, tossing a pebble up and down rhythmically. Today should be the day, and even though day is giving way to night and he’s beginning to worry, he tells himself nothing is wrong. There’s nothing to worry about. The casing of the cocoon still looks healthy, and the few times he’s gone ahead and touched it, there’s been movement inside.

Everything is fine, he tells himself, a mantra to get lost in as he tosses the tiny stone up and down. The repetition helps, but only so much. The moment he hears a sort of shuffling, a soft clicking, from the cocoon, the pebble is forgotten. He tosses it up, if only because he had been doing so anyway, but he twists around onto his hands and knees before he can catch it.

The pebble bounces off the top of his head. He winces, rubs a hand through his hair, but action is automatic and his attention is entirely focused on the cocoon. It’s gone quiet again, and he pulls himself up to his feet, walking toward it slowly and carefully. He’s never seen anybody metamorphose before, and he isn’t entirely sure what to expect. Is the one inside supposed to break free gloriously? Maybe some sort of slow and careful undoing, instead?

He’s hesitant, but slowly he reaches out to press his palm to the casing. The touch is soft and brief, and he pulls away when the movement starts again. It starts out slow, but gradually builds in urgency. It doesn’t take long at all for a small tear to form in the silk, and Dragonfly has to fight every urge he has to help things along. He wants to, so badly, but he knows he shouldn’t.

The new moth seems to do well enough on his own, though. He keeps on wiggling, gradually making the tear wider. Soon enough, Dragonfly can see Moth’s wings, crumpled and wet, pressing against the opening. There’s a bit more squirming, and the tear finally gives, and the moth is tipping backward.

Dragonfly’s quick to react, at least, and moves forward and arms outstretched, and just in time. He catches the new moth, and drops down to his knees with him in his arms, his head nestled into the crook of his neck.

The dragonfly takes a moment to look over the body he holds, and finds the green patches under his eyes darkening and spreading. His antennae perk with curiosity and intrigue as he looks over the lithe and silvery body, so different from the wormy caterpillar Luna had been two weeks ago. His face is much more angular now, but still somehow soft, and Dragonfly brushes some of the new silver hair out of his face, back against the red antennae.

And then Moth’s eyes finally open, and they’re so black that Dragonfly can see himself in them. The green on his cheeks darkens.

“H-Hey. Long time no see,” he says, and grins a little crookedly at the Moth in his arms.

Moth offers a small smile of his own, lifting one hand and taking a look. He notes his hands are black now, and his arms grey. He used to be so green.

“Long time no see,” he returns, and is only mildly relieved to know his voice hasn’t changed. Slowly, he sits himself up, sliding off of Dragonfly’s lap and sitting on the tree’s branch. He twists a little, looking over his shoulder and to his wings. He tries to spread them, but they’re still too damp. Soon, he supposes.

Turning his attention back to Dragonfly, Moth’s smile slowly spreads into something knowing and warm. “Did you stay with me the whole time?”

Dragonfly clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair. “Ah - well - maybe… not the whole time. But, you know. Someone had to come check on you. Make sure you didn’t freeze or bake, or. Or get eaten.”

“Uh huh,” Moth says softly, and shamelessly leans over to rest against the warm, green body nearby. “And you just happened to come by at the right moment?”

“Exactly,” Dragonfly grins inwardly, welcoming Moth’s lazy embrace.

The moth presses his face into the crook of the dragonfly’s neck, looping his arms loosely about his shoulders. “Well, since you’re here. Stay with me, until my wings are dry?”


	3. prefume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A butterfly finds a Rose in the woods.

It would be ridiculous to say that she’s never smelled a rose before, but Butterfly has never smelled one quite like this. The scent of it is so incredibly strong, though thankfully it isn’t overpowering. It’s enough to pique her interest, though, and she flutters undecidedly in the air for a moment.

She remembers what Moth told her, about how he had been caught and almost eaten by a venus flytrap. The reason he’d been caught was because he’d been so caught up in the deadly plant’s pretty smell. She knows there’s a difference between the two, but some part of her worries that if she seeks out this rose, she’ll find teeth, too.

That’s silly, she tells herself. Roses don’t have teeth. Thorns, maybe, but…

Plucking up her courage, she decides to follow the scent. It can’t hurt to just go take a look, right? And, besides, it’s only a rose. Nothing out of the ordinary should happen, especially if she keeps her distance.

Though, that is much easier said than done when she actually finds the rose.

She finds him seated on an old log, a book open in his lap and a quill scratching some sort of sketch onto the parchment. She pauses in her flight, takes to a tree to watch him for a long moment. His petals are red, and his skin is a soft pink. She can’t see all of his face very well from where she is, but what she can see of him makes the pink under her eyes spread across the bridge of her nose.

She should have expected a rose to be this handsome. And, in its own way, maybe that’s just as bad as plants with sharp teeth.

Collecting herself again, she manages to leave the tree and flutter over toward him. He doesn’t seem to notice as she hovers a few inches above his head, watching him draw. She has to readjust herself in the air before she can properly make out the picture. It’s another plant, a girl with hydrangeas for hair. She smiles a little to herself, and wonders if the girl in the drawing knows how the rose feels.

She slowly drops down lower, until her feet are daringly touching the corner of the page. A shy smile tugs at her lips upon hearing his surprised, quiet gasp.

“Oh. Hello,” the rose greets, and when she finally looks up at his face, she sees his eyes are a dark red. They make her blush worsen all over again, but she manages to wave to him.

“Hello,” she says, though she knows he won’t really hear her words. She doesn’t really know what they all sound like to the plants, but she knows their words don’t make much sense to them.

The rose puts his quill down and slowly reaches out to brush a knuckle against the butterfly’s side. She lets him, though her antennae unfurl and lay flat against her head for a moment. There’s an innate fear he’ll try to hurt her, but she wants to believe that won’t happen.

“I like your drawing,” Butterfly says, and makes the effort to point down at his drawing and smile.

He seems to get it, and he smiles back, a slightly darker shade of pink coloring his cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, though she sees him cock an eyebrow, regarding her curiously. “But where did you come from, little Princess?”

Butterfly’s antennae go straight up in surprise, and then quickly curl in on themselves. The pink spreads across her nose again, and colors her cheeks. She ducks her head, and pushes her face into her hands to hide her sudden embarrassment. She had not anticipated this, and she’s sure now that her only option is to leave.

And so, with her eyes still closed and her face still covered, she lifts off of Rose’s book and quickly leaves the scene. It’s near miraculous that she doesn’t crash into any trees on her way back to Moth.


	4. here comes the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moth meets Venus for a second time.

Moth had known the rain would come. When he woke that dusk, the air had been heavy with the pending storm, bristling with electricity that made his fluff stand on end and wings tingle. He had known that it wouldn’t take very long at all before the clouds opened up, and then it would likely rain all through the night. He had known this, and still, he had ventured out into the twilight. 

It hadn’t been necessary, and both Dragonfly and Butterfly would likely have a few choice things to tell him when they found out, but he had been restless. For days now, there had been a stirring in him that he couldn’t quite place. A restlessness that, perhaps, came with wings that were still fairly new. A curiosity, maybe, of things that hid and waited deeper in the forest. Whatever the cause, he would have to deal with the effect once it caught up to him. 

And it did, sooner rather than later. An hour or so later, the rain finally came, falling in warm and heavy sheets. He took a few drops to his wings, and now that they are weighted with rain, flying is out of the question. 

He finds a troop of mushrooms growing on a log, and begrudgingly tucks himself in beneath one’s cap. It’s not much in terms of shelter, but it’s the best he can do for the time being. The rain is falling hard and the wind is picking up, to leave this spot would not be in his best interest. So, even if the mushroom doesn’t provide the best defense against the storm, it’s better than nothing. He can only hope that it doesn’t last for too long. 

Eventually his legs tire, and he slumps to sit on the log. He folds his wings tight against his back as he leans against the stem of the mushroom, knees drawn up and arms wrapped tight around them. He leans forward to press his chin into his knees, sighing. By now, his fluff and hair have been matted down, too, and tiny shivers run up and down his spine. 

He does his best to suppress his shivering, and takes to just watching the rain fall. His gaze flits skyward at the sound of thunder, just in time to see the lightning strike that follows. If he weren’t stuck in the middle of this downpour, stranded at ground level, he thinks he may have been able to enjoy the storm. As things are though, admiration is a little harder to come by. 

As the storm rolls on, he finds himself gradually lost in the rhythm of it all. So lost, in fact, that he doesn’t quite notice right away when the rain stops falling on him. It takes a moment to register the absence of raindrops on the mushroom and himself. It takes even longer before he realizes there is something shielding him. He thinks that maybe the storm blew a branch his way, that the leaves of some tree’s broken limb is providing this shelter. 

Then he looks up, and the red beneath his eyes drains into the grey of his cheek. The venus flytrap from the other day is standing over him, and it’s all Moth can do to stare for a long moment. Briefly, Moth notes that the thing that had been sheltering him was not just the flytrap, but the hem of his coat, held out and over him. He wants to think twice, but the flight or fight urge is stronger than his curiosity. His eyes are wide as he finally leans back onto his palms, scooting himself backward to try and get out of this giant’s shadow. 

“Hey - wait, wait. Don’t do that,” the flytrap speaks, and his tone is soft enough to make the moth pause in his futile attempts at escape. Even if Moth had continued, the sad and terrifying truth of the matter is that there would have been no point.

Slowly, the flytrap sits. Moth watches him, pulling himself up onto his knees, brow furrowed. His antennae are up, perked with confusion and curiosity, but he doesn’t dare move closer, not yet. 

“If it helps at all, I’m not going to eat you,” Venus says with a quiet laugh, offering the moth a grin that shows his teeth. It makes Moth’s antennae dip back against his soaked hair, and his brow furrow a little more. 

“How do I know you won’t for sure?” he asks, and crosses his arms over his chest. He knows the other can’t understand him, but it doesn’t stop him from asking. He hopes his body language will speak for him. 

“I guess I wouldn’t trust me either, if I were you,” Venus continues. “But, keep in mind that if I had wanted to do it, you’d be gone by now.” 

Moth glances away from him, down to his own knees. He knows the flytrap is right; a second thought or not, he had let him go. It had to have meant something, but Moth worries that it had only been meaningful in that moment. What if this is some sort of trick? 

But, that makes no sense, does it? He can’t fly, and there’s no way he outrun the flytrap. There was nothing stopping Venus from just grabbing when he happened upon him, and there’s nothing stopping him now. He lifts his gaze again, though his brow remains furrowed as he eyes the other. 

The sun has long since set, and with the storm blotting out the moon, the forest is dark around them. But Moth can see the flytrap well enough in the night, and he takes idle note of the sheen the rain has given his skin and hair. And those green eyes are still so bright, but not quite as frightening as they had seemed the last time. That mouth, too, doesn’t seem half as threatening, not with the way Venus’ is trying to smile. 

“...okay,” Moth says, though Venus only hears soft clicks and squeaks. “So, if you’re not going to eat me, what do you want?” 

The question is lost on the flytrap, and yet he still somehow manages to answer it. He takes hold of the hem of his coat, and opens it a little. The invitation is clear, and Moth hesitates for a few long seconds before slowly shuffling over to Venus. He’s cautious, and makes sure not to get too close, but there’s immediate relief in the warmth that comes from the bigger plant. A shiver runs through him as the new temperature settles in him, relieving him of a chill he hadn’t realized was so bad. 

“I wasn’t going to do anything, when I saw you earlier,” Venus starts slowly, and Moth looks up toward his face. Those eyes are on him again, and the red slowly comes back to his cheeks under that gaze. “I was just going to leave you alone, but…” He trails off for a moment, and a grin tugs at his lips. “You just looked kind of pathetic, sitting there in the rain.” He laughs, and Moth flushes, but he knows no harm was meant. 

“Yeah, well…” Moth retorts, though he has nowhere to go from there. He crosses his arms over his chest again, ducking his head just a little. He also knows that Venus is right, he looks and feels quite piteous at the moment. 

A quiet comes over them, broken only by the sounds of the storm. It lasts a little too long, until Venus feels the need to break it. 

“I’m sorry I scared you the other night.” 

Moth looks up again, and this time Venus isn’t looking at him. He’s looking away, out into the storm, decidedly focused on anything but the bug at his side. 

“I don’t usually second guess myself like that, but.” He laughs softly again, shaking his head. “You looked pretty pathetic then, too. And maybe I looked a little too long.” 

Moth’s brow furrows again as he tries to understand what this giant means. 

“…. and, I guess I wasn’t that hungry, anyway,” Venus concludes, clearing his throat a little. 

Moth’s eyes search what he can see of the other’s face, and he notes just the smallest tint of green dusting the other’s red cheeks. This - all of this - is not at all what he had expected tonight, but it somehow makes him smile anyway. 

By the time the storm ends, he’s a lot less regretful about being caught it than he had been when it started.


	5. waterproof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragonfly takes Moth to a pond.

It’s Dragonfly’s idea to come out to one of the ponds. Now that Moth has his wings, it’s eager to bring him to the places he couldn’t quite make it to as a caterpillar. Flying to the pond he had in mind is much faster and less taxing than it would have been if he’d had to crawl the whole way there.

When they arrive, Dragonfly is quick to lead Moth toward the edge of the water.

And then keep walking.

“Show off,” Moth says, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Dragonfly walk from the edge of the pond and over the water. A smile tugs at his lips, relieving him of his attempt at a scowl when Dragonfly turns around to face him. He walks backward on the surface of the water, arms flung out and grinning lopsidedly.

“Show off? I’m not showing of,” the dragonfly defends, but the lilt in his voice and the grin on his lips says otherwise.

“I think you are,” Moth retorts, and his arms fall away from his chest. He walks to the edge of the water, idly toeing at the shallows. His gaze lifts from the water and back to Dragonfly, who’s more than a few steps away by now.

“What?” Dragonfly scoffs. “No way. Just taking a walk.”

“Uh huh,” Moth murmurs. He watches the other for a few quiet seconds, takes in how his feet press to the pond’s surface but never break it. It’s fascinating, if he’s being honest with himself. Admiration is a struggle, though, given the way the dragonfly is teasing him.

Moth waits a moment longer, and then spreads his wings, lifting into the air. Flight is the only way he can comfortably make his way to Dragonfly.

“So nice of you to join me,” Dragonfly teases, holding out one hand toward the moth. Moth accepts, for just a moment, tangling their fingers together before pulling his hand away.

“You’re a brat,” Moth chides with a gradually broadening smirk. He dips in toward Dragonfly quickly, if not a little clumsily, and thankfully his kiss finds its mark. He presses his lips gently to the other’s cheek, and leans back and away with a tiny giggle.

He had hoped it would surprise Dragonfly, but he hadn’t expected such a little thing to make him lose his grip on the water. Moth’s hands come up to muffle his giddy gasp, the red under his eyes suddenly much brighter and stretching across the bridge of his nose as Dragonfly slips into the pond. He’s still giggling into his palms when Dragonfly breaks the surface again, sputtering and flushed.

“Very funny,” the dragonfly huffs, watching as Moth touches down on the shore again. He swims until his feet touch the bottom, then heaves himself out of the water all together. He offers Moth another small grin, lifting his soaked wings and fluttering them quickly, shaking the water out of them and intentionally smattering the moth with the cast-off.

Moth shields himself as well as he can with his arms and hands and wings, giggling again. “I thought it was funny,” he admits, and he offers the other a fond smile when his arms come away from his face.

“I guess I kind of deserved it, huh?” Dragonfly chuckles, tugging his goggles down around his neck and slicking his wet hair back.

“Kind of,” Moth agrees, but reaches for Dragonfly’s hand. This time, he doesn’t let go.


	6. tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butterfly finds herself caught in a spider's web.

The sun is already setting when Butterfly decides she should be heading home. The flight back from where she is is a short one, and she should be able to make it home before night falls completely. This is the theory, anyway, and all should go accordingly, if she was paying more attention to where she was going.

A sound from somewhere behind catches her attention, and she takes her eyes off of her flight path for just a moment. But a moment is all that’s needed for her to find herself blindly caught in a spider’s web. At first, she doesn’t quite realize what’s happened, but the more she fights against the sticky silk, the faster reality closes in on her. Something deep inside her tells her not to struggle, tugging at the strands will only alert the spider. But something even deeper is so painfully desperate to get away from this whole mess. The sound that distracted her, whatever it had been, is forgotten entirely.

The way that she’s caught is cruel; the front of her stuck to the web, but her wings free to flutter all they like. No matter how she flutters, though, or how she twists or shimmies, the silk doesn’t give. She’s not big enough or strong enough to break free. She keeps the fight up for a few moments more, and regretfully lets herself go slack against the web. The only relief is that the spider doesn’t seem to be home, for now.

Her whole body trembles and her chest heaves as she stares through the gaps in the web. The scenery before her barely registers; there are branches and leaves, and below them brush and rocks and flowers, but she’s not seeing them. Pure terror has struck her blind to the world around her, and all she knows is this web, and this overwhelming sense of dread.

Tears are suddenly clouding her vision, and she lets out a quiet, strangled whimper. There’s nothing she can do to free herself, and she’s just a little too deep into the wood for Moth or any of the others to be around. She wants to cry out for help, but she knows that doing so will probably attract the wrong attention. Something worse than the spider could be nearby.

And so it seems that all she can do is hang there, tangled in silk and crying, waiting. A part of her almost wishes she didn’t have to wait, that the spider would come and finish the job. Leaving her like this, terrified and sifting through her regrets, is worse than anything the spider could do.

She wonders how long it will take for the others to notice - to really notice - she’s gone. She wonders what they’ll do, and how they’ll feel, and if they’ll be okay…

She curses under her breath, and then again a little louder as a new wave of sorrow crushes her. Her stomach roils, and her heart feels heavy in her chest as she shamelessly sobs, mourning her own foolish fate.

“Hey.”

A voice from behind her quiets her sobbing, at the very least. Her trembling body stiffens, and she tries to look over her shoulder, fearful the one speaking may be the spider. But as she tries to focus, she notes the sound of wings.

She swallows thickly, and the pink under her eyes has paled but spread down across the bridge of her nose and to her cheeks. “I - I can’t… I’m… stuck.” It sounds ridiculous, because anybody with two eyes and decent sense could tell this. But not a whole lot makes sense to her right now, and she hopes the stranger can forgive her fumbling.

“Yeah - I see that,” the voice says, and though it could have been teasing, it sounds more like he’s just agreeing with her. She’s grateful for that.

“Just stay still, and I’ll get you out of there.”

He sounds so sure of himself. But, oh - what if he gets stuck, too? She’d never be able to live with herself if some other poor bug wound up in this sort of awful situation because of her. Not that she likely would have very long to live, anyway, but…

She doesn’t have very long to think about it, and soon enough she can feel his hands on her hips. It’s, perhaps, a little invasive, the way he suddenly presses himself up behind her, crushing her wings to her back and his chest, but if it will get her free, she doesn’t mind.

“Please,” she whimpers quietly, and the arms that are so carefully wrapped around her give her middle a little squeeze.

“I got you,” the stranger promises. And then, very suddenly, there’s a strong pull, and though the web resists for just a moment, she finds herself free. Strands of broken silk cling to her wrists and hips and knees, but she’s free. The tears come again, though this time they’re born of pure relief. Still caught up in the stranger’s arms, she presses her face into her hands, hiding her tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the stranger says, and moves her up into his arms bridal style. She crumples in his hold, and he carries her over to a nearby tree’s branch. He sets her down carefully, and kneels with her, brow furrowed. “You’re okay now.”

Butterfly keeps her face pressed into her hands, and her antennae are curled in tight on themselves. She mumbles a quiet thanks into her palms, hiccuping as she tries to regain her proper breathing. But she had been so scared, and so helpless, and she’d had to rely on a total stranger to save her. The whole ordeal was overwhelming and humiliating.

“It was the least I could do,” the stranger chuckles, and it idly occurs to her that she doesn’t even know what her savior looks like.

She wipes at her eyes, clearing her face of humility as much as she can before she looks up at him. She’s surprised to see he’s another butterfly, but bigger than her. A Monarch, and he’s beautiful. She feels a heat rising to her cheeks again, the pink spreading, darker than before.

“Oh - I - it’s getting late, and I should go home. That’s… That’s where I was heading, before I…” Just the thought of the web makes her shudder, and her blush quickly recede. She furrows her brow, and rubs at one arm. “…I should go. But, really, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, really,” Monarch replies with a wave of his hand. “Really. Any decent bug would have done the same thing.”

Butterfly can only bring herself to breathe a soft “heh” in response. She’s still rubbing at her arm, glancing toward the direction she should be heading into. She knows that if she’s careful, she can make it home just fine, but her mind is still racing, and she worries she’ll wind up in another strange and awful situation. Absently, she digs her fingers into her arm.

“… you want me to fly you home?” the monarch asks, and gives a little laugh at her obvious surprise and relief.

“Would you? I - you don’t have to - I can manage - ”

“What, and let you get stuck in some other spider’s web, or something worse?” He teases, and she smiles in spite of her embarrassment.

“That would be bad,” she tells him, laughing quietly.

“That would be bad,” he confirms and stands, offering his hand to her. She takes it, and he pulls her up and close to him, grinning at her. Something about him is charming, and she decides she likes it.


	7. toxic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moth meets a cockroach. Cockroach meets Venus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t normally add notes to these pieces, but this one requires a small heads up and a trigger warning for implied rape. the scene itself isn’t very descriptive, but the act is heavily implied. following, there is also a death scene, and while also not incredibly descriptive, it is there. if this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable in any way, shape or form, please avoid this installment.

They meet after the storm.

Venus had been kind enough to keep Moth sheltered and dry during the heavy rain, but had done little more than that. Moth had understood, considering it likely wouldn’t have been a good idea to have a giant, carnivorous plant bring him home. So, when the rain had stopped, and his wings had been dried, Venus had left him on his own. The whole situation had left Moth feeling more than a little perplexed, but overall content.

It’s when he’s on his way home that he meets the cockroach. Their meeting is nothing out of the ordinary, just a clumsy moth nearly flying right into another unsuspecting bug. Moth apologizes wholeheartedly and flustered by distraction, but the cockroach just smiles and waves it away.

He asks if he can take Moth the rest of the way home, noting that he seems a little out of bounds. And it takes Moth a moment to think about this, but there’s nothing overtly threatening about this bug. His eyes, blue but a little muddy toward the center, are kind, and his smile is shy. Moth can’t really see any reason to say no, and so he accepts the cockroach’s offer.

Butterfly is the first to see them when they arrive, and she fusses over Moth, worried because he had been gone for so long, and in such bad weather. It’s only when she’s sure that he’s alright that she finally takes note of his escort. She thanks him, but does little more than that.

Moth doesn’t notice the slight scowl Roach gives the pink-haired butterfly before he takes his leave. He’s far too excited to tell Butterfly about the storm, and about the flytrap finally.

However, meeting Roach becomes a fairly frequent thing. More often than not, he seems to find his way to where Moth is. It’s a little surprising, but Moth doesn’t think too hard on it. It’s kind of nice, and some part of him hopes that they’ll become friends instead of acquaintances. Butterfly notices these too-frequent run-ins eventually, and cautions her friend to be careful.

The thing is, though, that Moth is trusting to a fault. He often gives the benefit of every doubt, and that’s how he ends up with the cockroach for a friend. It gradually comes to light that the others don’t really like Roach. They say he makes them uncomfortable, that there’s something about him that isn’t right. Moth surmises this is just stereotypical treatment of a bug like Roach, and does his best to dissuade the others. It never really works, and Moth pretends he doesn’t notice the weight in their smiles whenever he brings the other up.

But Moth sees nothing wrong with this quiet, somewhat shy bug. He can’t sense any malice in his actions or his words, and hopes that one day the others will see him this way, too.

That never happens.

One day, long after the days have bled into weeks, Moth thinks he’s ready to maybe go a little deeper into the forest again. He wants to see Venus, and thinks he should have tried long before now to do so. But it seems like every time he’s tried to go before, Roach has been there to distract him. Which, Moth thinks, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He likes Roach well enough, and he thinks that Roach likes him, too. But the flytrap has been so steadily on his mind, and he should try to find him again. It’s a silly, dangerous notion, but his mind is made up.

He doesn’t get far before Roach seems to appear out of nowhere, dropping down in front of him in midair and catching the moth in his arms. Moth is startled, but Roach laughs softly as he lowers them both down to a tree branch. Only once both of them are securely standing does Roach let Moth go.

“Roach! Why - Don’t do that! You scared me,” Moth says, brow furrowed just a little as he looks the other over. There’s still a smile on his face, and Moth wants to think that he meant nothing by it other than to surprise him.

Roach shrugs one shoulder. “I wanted to surprise you,” he says. He glances from Moth and over his shoulder to the deeper part of the forest, and turns back to him, eyebrow raised. “Where were you going?” A pause, and then he adds, “you’re not going to look for that flytrap again, are you?”

Moth flushes, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Well… so what if I am?” he counters. “I’ve been wanting to see him again for a while, but…”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Roach says, catching Moth by surprise.

Moth had only ever told him about the flytrap offhandedly, spared him the details of the encounters that he’d given Butterfly and Dragonfly. While the other two seemed a little wary of Moth’s interest, there seemed to be no obvious danger, and so they supported the fancy he’d taken to the plant. Roach, however, only knew that there had been run-ins.

“I don’t really think that’s up to you to decide,” Moth says slowly, brow furrowed again.

Roach moves in toward Moth, gradually backing him up against the tree’s trunk. “He’s probably only pretending, you know,” he tells him. One arm comes up and that hand presses against the bark by Moth’s head. “And one day, he’ll eat you up.”

Moth flushes, and shifts just a little, pressing back against the tree to get a little more room between them. “I don’t think so,” he argues. “He… he could have already, and he hasn’t. But, either way, it’s… none of your business, really.”

“I’m just looking out for my friend,” Roach says, and his other arm comes up, effectively pinning Moth to the tree. “I’d hate for something to happen to you.”

“I’ll be careful, if that helps any,” Moth says, and presses his palms to Roach’s shoulders. He gives him a push, and for a moment, freedom is within his grasp again. But he doesn’t move quite fast enough, and soon Roach has him pinned to the trunk again. This time with his hands, and his body.

“What’s so special about him, anyway?” Roach asks, a slight crease in his brow and his gaze intense.

Moth doesn’t feel inclined to answer this question, as it’s a much more pressing matter to get this bug off of him. “Roach - get off of me. You’re hurting me.” His hands come up to the other’s shoulders again, and this time he digs his fingers in while he pushes. Roach doesn’t budge.

“I don’t want you to go looking for him again,” Roach says, and leans in toward Moth just a little. Their foreheads almost touch. “Why don’t we do something together instead?” he asks, and his antennae reach out and find Moth’s, tangling with and stroking the sensitive appendages.

Moth gasps, and does his best to crane his neck away from Roach, to flatten his antennae against his head. “Maybe another time?” he suggests, swallowing hard, a budding sense of dread forming in his chest. He’s quiet for just a moment, and then he whimpers. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Roach says, shrugging his shoulders. He ducks his head just a little, enough for his antennae to stroke Moth’s silvery hair and cheeks.

Moth inhales deeply, trying to keep himself steady. This is somehow more frightening than almost being eaten. He supposes it’s because he has no idea what to really expect from this situation. In retrospect, being eaten was a simple and straightforward process. But this… He has no idea what’s happening, or why it is.

“O-okay,” he says slowly, speaking quietly. “We can do something together. What did you have in mind?”

One of Roach’s antennae move from Moth’s cheek to his mouth. He strokes his lips while he presses himself in between his legs. “You’ll see.”

\- - - 

It’s by pure chance that Venus finds them, but he finds them just in time.

He catches a glimpse of the on-goings - of Moth pinned to the branch of a tree and another bug on top of him - and feels the color drain from his face for just a moment. The color comes flooding back with his rage and disgust, and he doesn’t think twice before pulling the inky brown bug off of the moth. Moth is quick to pull himself into a sit, scooting back to the trunk again and panting hard. His vision is bleary from crying, but he’s so incredibly grateful to see Venus again, especially now.

Venus’ grip on the cockroach is tight and his stare is intense. He doesn’t bother to demand to know what was happening, as it was painfully obvious. He looks away from the cockroach and to Moth.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Moth gives a little nod, hugging himself tightly. “I - I’ll be okay,” he says, though he knows Venus can’t understand him. But the nod is enough.

“Good,” Venus says, and then his attention is back on the cockroach in his hand. His grip tightens.

“A-ah!” Roach gasps and tries to squeeze himself out of the tight hold. “Don’t - Please - ”

“I should eat you,” Venus says, and it makes the cockroach go still for just a moment. Moth has gone rigid, too.

“But you’re not even worth that,” Venus concludes, and flings his fist downward, sending the bug barreling down to the forest floor.

Moth watches in nothing short of morbid fascination and horror as Roach, dazed from the fall, barely has time to collect himself before Venus’ foot comes down on him. There’s a sickening, soft sort of crunch, and Moth has to finally turn his head and cover his ears. 

Venus grinds his foot down into the ground for good measure, then kicks the clump of dirt away into the brush. He sighs heavily, and then moves closer to the tree, to Moth, and offers his hand to the little thing.

“It’s okay,” he tells him, and watches Moth uncover his ears and open his eyes, looking up at him. The expression on the bug’s face is unreadable, a muddled mess of fear and relief, and it soon enough all comes out in more tears. He’s too shaken to really move properly, but the little effort he makes is enough for Venus to understand, and the flower takes him gently into his hands. He strokes a finger against Moth’s back and wings as he holds the trembling little one to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Venus apologizes, because even if he doesn’t know why that was happening, it never should have happened in the first place.

Moth has no words, and instead presses his face into the flytrap’s chest, clinging desperately to his vest. Venus is warm, and Moth can feel his heart thudding against his ribs, and against his hands. It’s soothing, and gradually the tears stop, but even then he keeps himself huddled close to Venus, pressed against his pulse.


	8. night and day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a friendship is hard to maintain when one is diurnal and your best friend is nocturnal.

It was easier when they had both been caterpillars. Or at least, when Moth had been. Butterfly feels a little guilty anytime she thinks that way, but there’s no denying it, really. Since Moth’s pupation and metamorphosis, spending time together has been challenging. His new body demands sleep during the daylight hours, but they do their best to make it work. The time they do have during the blue and golden hours is often well spent, and it means a lot to both of them.

It’s well into the early night they’re sitting together when Butterfly suddenly leans over, laying her head onto Moth’s lap. He looks down at her and gives her a little smile.

“What are you doing?”

She turns onto her side, gently pushing her face into his stomach. “I’m sleepy.” The way she says it, muffled and slurred, it sounds more like _sleeby_. It makes him laugh a little while he runs red fingers through pink hair.

It feels like time is moving too quickly tonight, and he doesn’t really want to encourage her to go to sleep, but he can tell she’s very tired. His smile softens a little as he looks down at her, even if she can’t see it right then and there.

“You can go to sleep, you know,” he tells her. His fingers find the base of her skull, and he plays with the short hair there.

“Bu-,” she mumbles her protest, but doesn’t make much of an effort to move just yet.

“I know,” he says. “But if you’re tired…”

She hums her response, and turns onto her back. She looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and reaches for the hand that had been playing with her hair. She holds his hand, and gives it a little squeeze.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” she asks quietly, and Moth nods.

Truth be told, he’ll be in roughly the same shape then as she is now, but that doesn’t change anything.

“You’ll see me in the morning.”


End file.
